


Perfect

by Flailingkittylover



Series: Family [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Armin POV, Armin and Annie are parents, Danger: sweetness which may make your teeth rot, F/M, Family, Fluff, Humor, Masseuse- Min, Papa-Min, Pregnancy, Some years after Post-Time Skip arc, aruani kids, save yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flailingkittylover/pseuds/Flailingkittylover
Summary: “I just had a thought,” Armin taps his chin then points at his wife, “Since you asked me to do this to you, can you really complain?”“Yes, I can,” Annie snaps, “Now either figure out a way to painlessly get this baby out of me or go away.”
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart, Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein
Series: Family [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1074135
Comments: 9
Kudos: 128





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I needed some LIGHT these chapters are killing me. So have some floof and Papa-Min. 
> 
> But [@kepobaka](https://www.instagram.com/kepobaka/?hl=en), I mostly blame you for this. >;| I saw your [latest upload](https://www.instagram.com/p/CA8LuAEBDE4/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) and went “:O...hmm, I should dust off my Armin POV dad-fic…” 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

“Whoa...” comes the admiration from the small boy next to Armin. He stands on his tip-toes, scanning over the table dotted with steaming or syrupy breakfast delights. “All of it smells good.”

“I’d hope so!” Armin chirps. He sets the last plate of his culinary hard work in the table’s middle then takes off the apron Annie likes to tease him for “looking pretty” in. “I’m going to go fetch Mom. Andrew, can I trust you to handle being alone for a couple minutes? And if you do that and something else for me, you might get a special treat.”

His son nods enthusiastically, the top row of his teeth biting his lower lip, and a burst of affection summons a large smile from Armin. The young father bends down, whispers in his son’s ear —the boy nodding in understanding—before he ruffles the hair Andrew inherited from him. 

Armin walks down the hall to the master bedroom and once he reaches the door, he knocks, “Annie?” No response. “Annie, are you awake?” Armin hopes so. It’s almost half-past nine though he does remember last night being particularly horrible for her. He hopes she’s feeling better now. As quietly as he can, Armin opens the door. 

Their bed with a white duvet sits in front of him and nestled on the left side rests who Armin looks for. 

He whispers, “Ann— “

A pillow clocks him in the face then falls to the floor. 

_No, she’s still in a bad mood._

“I would finally believe that you’re brainless if you think I’m getting out of this bed...” is his wife’s irritated mumble. 

“Annie…”

“ _No.”_

Armin’s chest inflates then deflates from a deep sigh. She doesn’t move from resting on her side and the cunning part of him gets an idea. Sneakily, Armin approaches the bed, harnesses his inner lizard and belly-crawls through the dunes of sheets until he reaches his grumpy wife, digs his face into the space between her neck and shoulder.

“Pretty please come to breakfast?” Armin begs in a sweet voice, “Andrew and I might eat your pancakes before we can remember we need to save it.”

Annie’s opening eyes reveal tired, ice irises, her tousled morning hair accentuating her annoyance. She shoves an elbow into his sternum, pushing him back, “You’re making it too warm.”

“You’re very sweet to compliment me this early.”

“No, it’s an insult to get you away from me. Want another?”

“Maybe later. Right now, I’m only interested in trying not to be the only adult at the dinner table.” A grin of crafty goofiness splits Armin’s face, “How about it?”

“Armin, I’m too tired...just eat without me.”

Worry takes root in Armin, “Are you sure?” his palm settles on her forehead, probing for a fever. Annie pushes his hand away.

_“Yes._ Now leave me alone.”

“I will, but only if you tell me what’s wrong.”

Annie’s jaw slides to the right. Vexed winter-lake eyes roll over to him, “What _else_ could I be frustrated at? Who else is not only making my life difficult but keeping me up all night?”

Her husband’s first instinct is to pin the blame on their son who hardly stops running around in the day and remains restless at night. But Armin understands, smiles sympathetically. Annie twists her body around, the culprit behind her lack of sleep rising the bedding over her middle and once she’s on her back, the large globe which is her stomach keeps the bedsheets lifted.

“I don’t feel like taking five minutes to get myself out of bed then waddle another five minutes to get to the table,” she grumbles with her eyes squeezed shut, “I just want to sleep.”

“I can bring it to you,” Armin offers happily, “I don’t mind. Everything is already made.” His exhausted wife pulls the covers up over her shoulders and moves onto her left side, seemingly not hearing him. Armin tucks his face farther into Annie’s neck, nuzzling against the soft skin there, “Annieee.”

Her small hand slaps over his face and pushes him away, _“Get away from me.”_

“Alright, alright.” He chuckles. Armin gives Annie the space she demands but not before he tries to help; he sits on his knees next to her lower back, places mindful hands on her hip to probe then sinks his knuckles along her hip bone, carefully digging into muscle and twisting his wrist. There’s an immediate high noise of relief from Annie so he keeps going, ventures down her leg too where she’s complained about pain before. It’s slow, but as he tends to his moody, better half, the tension flexing her neck and back relaxes.

Armin’s brows upturn as he stares down, admiring Annie. Her womb has protected a being Armin never knew he could love so unconditionally and now she’s due to give birth to their next child any day now. He also knows how hard Annie is trying to hide that everything hurts, again. He’s read how pregnancy puts her bones out of alignment and strains the ligaments in her abdomen, and at times, the aches in her back and hips get so bad, he hears Annie wake up late at night, gasping, sounding near tears; he always knew she was strong but this stress on top of her fight against persistent night terrors has Armin seeing his wife on a whole different level of tough. The least he can do is take her sharp words—and at times, more life-threateningly cold attitude—with the calmest smile and approach he can manage; Annie deserves something which was consistent in her life, after all.

“I’m sorry it’s so difficult, Annie,” he strokes her neck with the back of his hand. “If I could help with the pain or calm the baby down more I would. But this is the best I can do for now.”

“I could think of one other way this could have been avoided all together...” Annie grumbles.

The urge to be a smart mouth uproots in Armin, “Hm, you’re absolutely right about that. But I did just have a thought.” Armin taps his chin then points at his wife, “Since you asked me to do this to you, can you really complain?”

“ _Yes,_ I can. Now either figure out a way to painlessly get this baby out of me or _go away.”_

The other night must have been far worse than he thought and Armin sheepishly scratches his cheek—he probably went too far just now. Annie fidgets on her side, rubs absently at her large belly and Armin wants to join her. He reaches for her swell only to have Annie slap the top of his hand. 

“ _You_ are not allowed to touch,” she very nearly snarls, “You only make things worse.”

Armin slants his head, confused. Annie huffs annoyance out through her nose, “You being close only makes the baby more active. I don’t need Sleepy bouncing around like you do when you find something interesting to study.”

Her husband’s head is stuck in a pensive head slant, “Ah, I see. So, if you want Sleepy to be the opposite of me...then you _do_ want the baby to be like you? I’d like that too!”

Her finger shoots up to point at him then Annie’s fingers pincer and cuts across the air in the same motion of a zipper sealing shut. Armin sniggers. He follows through on not teasing anymore like his wife orders with the exception of him not keeping away. He leans down and kisses the roundness keeping their child safe, whispers how amazing Annie is for creating a new body for them to cherish. His hand settles on her round middle, fans his fingers out and back in, then he feels it - the light rumble and thump beneath his palm. Feeling Sleepy move shoots a static-shock through Armin, makes his smile reach his ears. 

He can feel Annie’s gaze on him, can tell frustration is twitching her eyebrow, but she doesn’t shove him away; he even sees pinkness filling her cheeks. Armin and his smile must appear painfully dopey because when he rises to stare back, Annie’s blush transforms from pink to fiery red, shoves her face in the pillows like she’s tired to hide from him.

Annie then flinches, groans miserably. Her hand presses into the bottom curve of her belly.

The ends of Armin’s eyebrows turn up in worry, “Getting close?”

“I think,” she says in a pinched voice. The straining woman’s head falls back onto the pillow when the sharp pain appears to subside, a resigned sigh blowing out of her, “But I’ll never know for sure. The baby will come whenever she wants to.”

One side of Armin’s mouth rises slowly, “You think it’s a girl too?”

“Who had to carry your brat for nearly a year? You?”

“If by some magic I could, I would, but I can’t. Besides, I thought you didn’t believe in that gut-feeling stuff. We couldn’t tell Andrew was a boy and you said everyone who said so made a dumb guess. Why is this time different?” 

“It just _is_. I wasn’t even attuned enough with my instincts back then to try to guess,” Annie combs back her bangs, her focus elsewhere, “That’s different now.”

Armin’s cheeks have been rounded from a smile for so long, the muscles in his face scream from aching — it’s the one pain he wished he could have all the time. It took some years for them to make it to marriage, a couple more for parenthood —Armin going so far to accept that Annie may never want children—but time changes and drive to be the caring mother Annie’s mom never was has made her softer, more patient. He congratulates this goal Annie panicked over not achieving with a kiss to the nose.

“Stop patronizing me,” is Annie’s menacing threat but her venom doesn’t match the crimson highlighting her face. 

An entertained noise whistles out of Armin—but her blunt behavior will never go away, thank goodness.

“Annie, if you keep talking like that, the baby will come out with your attitude. We might even be so lucky to get your cute nose again too.”

Stressing hands slide up and around Annie’s face, “Damn it. I’ve dealt with my fair share of curses in my life. _Stop_ adding more.”

Armin bows in submission all while his face threatens to crack from how long and high his smile has stayed. He should really leave her alone now. Armin starts to move off the bed until a quick hand grabs his wrist. Armin turns, worries for a second— Annie’s forehead is wrinkled and her expression looks pained.

“Armin, I’m—,” a long, regretful sigh blows up the hair strands in her face, “I’m sorry. You’re just trying to help and I’m treating you terribly...again. I’m really trying not to. It’s just frustrating. It’s hot outside, Andrew won’t stop jumping around, the baby won’t stop moving every time I try to sleep and everything hurts. I know I’m not the easiest person to be around already and to add me getting frustrated over every little thing you two do must be...” Annie doesn’t look at him. Remorseful misery thickens her voice when she says, “I’m sorry...”

Armin kisses her temple and Annie flinches. She turns her upper body toward him and Armin moves down, slants his mouth over hers. His hand forms a fist again and he returns it to grinding away the pain surviving in her hip bones, drawing a sigh from Annie which pours into him.

They part and Armin smiles as warmly as he can at her, “You don’t need to apologize. I know you don’t mean any of it. And even if you did, I don’t care. You’re doing a lot of work right now and I’m sorry I can’t help you more with it.” 

He pecks her forehead, her nose, her pink cheeks. A vulnerable sound leaves Annie, her strong grip fisting the front of his shirt, a habit she’s formed to make sure he stays close. His forehead bumps against hers, “Which is why I made breakfast. I promise it will perk you up a bit. Because really, it’s an amazing sight: your biggest child can cook!”

An eye roll and tooth-revealing laugh from Annie is Armin’s reward and he steals another kiss to her cheek. 

“Momma?” Annie lifts herself up right as Armin switches his attention to the doorway. Their four-year old crosses the threshold, holding a plate which has a messy stack of pancakes, eggs, and sausages all piled on top of each other. “Do you not wanna eat with us again? I brought this for you if you wanna eat here!”

Annie’s exhale is immediate as is the softness breaching her face. Armin has to bite his cheeks to keep down a cackle.

Armin’s secret weapon always works far better than his usual tactics. He can’t wait for Sleepy to join in on swaying their mother too.

“No, sweetheart,” Annie says, caving in, “I will. I just needed time to get ready. I’ll be right there.” Annie extends to Armin a judgmental glance, “This has _you_ written all over it.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Armin defends, though his back is toward her as he says it and scoots off the bed, trying _far_ too hard to not let his laugh escape. Annie’s clever husband moves to help her up, but not before sneaking his son a thumbs-up which is not visible from Annie’s sharp eye. Andrew bounces, his sapphire-blue twinkling. 

“I’ll get the table ready!” As Andrew rushes down the hall, food flies off the plate like confetti and falls with a _splat_ to the floor.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up,” Armin swiftly assures Annie who drops her head, possibly dreading another chore to do. He helps her rise from bed and squeezes her shoulders, “Let’s go give him some attention now.”

Annie relents with a nod, “Right. But just know you owe me an extra massage for using Andrew against me.”

“I need breakfast first to fulfill that promise though.”

In spite of being so tired, Annie’s elbow jabs him so hard in the ribs, he grunts from pain; the move doesn’t stop him from laughing either. He really doesn’t care — he got what he wanted.

It’s not three days from that morning when Sleepy finally decides to say hello and Annie’s water breaks. One of the benefits of being a successful writer — and as to _how_ he’s so successful, Armin isn’t quite sure at all — is affording a guest house across the garden, one which has been housing Mikasa and Jean for the past month. He throws open a window and yells for his friend’s help. Mikasa is the first to run out and just like they planned, both she and Jean escort Andrew away from the property during the worst of Annie’s labor. Armin stays by his wife’s side, wipes off her glistening forehead, gives the midwife an apologetic smile for Annie’s repeated cursing through contractions. It was early morning when her water broke, now it’s late afternoon. 

When, at last, the time to push comes, Armin’s finger bones are probably fractured and the skin of his hand purples under Annie’s devastating grip but he pays the feeling no mind; Annie needs him and he continues wiping her forehead with the towel in his free hand, encourages her gently even after she yells at him to shut up. She’s exhausted and her eyes — when not falling closed between the pains and bearing down— are glazed and teary.

“Only the shoulders are left dear,” The midwife below says, “You’re close.”

“ _Only the shoulders,”_ Annie repeats, her eyes haggard and raspy voice ice-cold, “Why don’t _you_ switch with me and see if you can say that so easily!!” 

Armin inches toward speaking up but he refrains. If Annie says childbirth was worse than being shot then he doesn’t _want_ to know the pain—his old wounds flare up from the mere thought. Armin simply holds her hand between both of his, gingerly kisses her exposed thumb because if he tries to kiss her cheek, she might headbutt him again. 

Then after the last push, Annie gasps like she’s the one taking her first breath of air, stunned for a moment at the sensation of nothingness, of blissfully fading pain and Armin hears it, a single noise from a newborn, one little choking cry which awakens every part of his soul. 

The midwife smiles up at both of them, “It’s a girl, dears.” 

Armin is so stunned, happy, and teary-eyed he can’t respond—he’s lost in the same emotional whirlpool he fell into when Annie first told him they were expecting again. He cuts the cord at the midwife’s invitation and a touched sound leaves Annie when their newborn is put onto her bare chest. The baby—who's as red as a lobster and face is scrunched—coughs then continues with her feeble cries, a sound which is like music to Armin’s ears.

Annie laughs, breathless, “You and your brother gave me so much grief. Then when you finally get what you want, you cry,” her hand rubs circles into the baby’s back, so well rhythmed and practiced, the cries devolve into whimpers, “Hush now,” she says in such a light, sugar-sweet voice, it convinces one to obey, “You’re here now and we have you.”

To Armin, it’s the most angelic and soft Annie’s ever sounded and she reserves the voice only for her children. 

Armin can only sit back in his chair, staring stupidly at both of them. Once the midwife takes their daughter and finishes cleaning her — ensures she’s warm and comfortable when placed back on Annie— the woman bows to take her leave. Armin thanks the midwife profusely for her help, guides the woman out to the front door, and when Armin returns, their daughter is still whiny yet alert while Annie’s eyelids flutter, her eyes glossy.

“Armin, can you hold her for a while? I... I’m more tired than I thought.”

Concern forms trenches between Armin’s brows, “Should I bring back the midwife?” 

“No,” her voice is hoarse from yells or screaming but neither after-effects from child-bearing block out the genuine care Armin hears. “I promise, I’m fine. I’m just tired,” a short laugh rushes out of her, “Story of my life, huh?”

Armin makes a face, uncertain. He’ll have to take Annie’s word for it and the midwife also wouldn’t have left if she wasn’t sure everything was fine either. His panic complex switches off.

Annie’s husband moves around the pillows propping Annie up to help her nap more comfortably. He then dives for the newborn snuggled to her chest but stops, moves his hands to different angles because it’s been some time since he’s done this. He finally figures it out and carefully picks his daughter up, paying close attention to how frail a newborn’s head is. 

Holding a baby isn’t new to him but he’s still scared of not securing her, of not holding her right; so scared in fact, Armin only just now felt Annie's hand moving along his arm. 

“I’ll never understand why, but over these years, you keep giving me so much, Armin…” she squeezes the end of his forearm, rubs the skin she holds with the side of her thumb, “I can’t ever repay you but thank you for staying with me, for giving me both of them… _”_ her eyes slip shut to sleep but not before she whispers, “ _Thank_ you.” 

Armin stares, dumbfounded. Annie must be absolutely delirious on top of being tired. Doesn’t she realize what she just put her body through? _Twice?_ What keeps running through his mind is how he can repay _her_ and Armin wonders if building a small dojo in the yard might get him barely a quarter of the way there. 

Annie's chest rises and falls from being sound asleep and Armin doesn’t waste a second more. He leans over, kisses the middle of his wife’s forehead, pecks the warm space beneath her eye—his own thank you and he’ll embarrass her with more praise when she wakes up.

He also wants to make sure Annie’s sleep is undisturbed so he acts fast, hopes he hasn’t missed what his textbook teachers called the “golden hour”. He settles the baby on an empty spot on the bed, unbuttons his shirt, then brings his daughter to his chest for skin-to-skin contact as he sits back in his chair. Like his research predicted, her whining reduces, soon dies out completely, and the lullaby of another steady heartbeat helps their daughter calm down. 

Armin has to remember to breathe—everything he has is too much to take in sometimes. Beyond the pain of war and deaths and Eren, he has a love which survived the long, desperate repair it needed to move on from their betrayals and pasts, he has a son, and now a daughter. A small smile twitches his mouth as he inspects his baby’s face. 

Annie got her wish: his daughter has his nose and from this day forward, he’ll argue day and night to anyone at how she pulls it off far better than he ever could. There’s only so much he can see but aside from the shape of her face suggesting it mimics his own, every other feature has been nabbed from Annie—fine, bleached-blond hair, the shape of her eyes. Her true eye color won’t settle in for a week or so but Armin is positive her blue eyes will fill in with Annie’s frosty-blue too. 

So carefully, Armin’s neck bends down to softly graze the tip of his nose on her forehead. He’s happy Andrew is more confident than he ever was but his daughter will be a mystery for a while. “ _What would I have been like?”_ Annie had told him once, _“I think about that sometimes. What would I’d be like if I didn’t...if I never had to do any of this? If I wasn’t born with Eldian blood...”_

Armin isn’t sure and he hopes Annie doesn’t think about the what-if too much. But maybe their little girl is the answer. She’s small and her features already show signs of being Annie’s duplicate but with enough of a blend of him for his wife to be relieved; he’d _also_ argue Sleepy here was so active because she’s as impatient and stubborn as her mother but he’ll keep that to himself...for now. 

He pecks her small forehead and the baby quickly retracts, tucks her nose into his chest, hiding.

“Oh no you _don’t.”_

He pecks her little forehead a couple times more, cautiously lifts his fussing daughter higher on himself until he can safely poke their matching noses together, “Listen, princess—your mother didn’t get affection and was thrown away at your age; she probably was barely even held. I won’t let that happen to you or your brother _or_ let you shy away from me fussing over you. Okay?” he smiles, happy and resolute, “Whether you like that or not.”

His daughter yawns, either unenthused or unimpressed, and Armin chokes on his laugh—he’ll wake up Annie and his entire street if he dares let it go; like Annie in looks and in attitude too. He gently rocks her, watches as her eyelids fall and body relaxes until sleep turns his youngest limp, has her drooling on his sternum. 

Armin stays like this for what feels like minutes but maybe it was an hour or more as Annie jolts awake and evening sunlight has shifted to moonlight gleaming through the window. Panic has her head twisting about the room until she reaches him, relief having her tense shoulders falling. 

“Your turn,” he says, smiling wide, “I kept her warm for you.” Annie lifts herself up, takes their daughter back into her arms and Armin kisses her cheek again. “Thank _you,_ Annie. For everything you’ve given me too.” 

“We’ll fight about who should keep saying thank you later,” Annie says with a side-smile. There’s a moment they share where one of her arms holds their daughter, Annie’s fingers on the opposite stroking the top of Armin’s hand, “Want to bring Andrew back over?”

Armin beams, nods excitedly. He kisses her, props her up with pillows again before peeking outside—the windows in the guest house are on so everyone is still awake.

As he rushes out to fetch their son, he overhears Annie say, “It wasn’t a dream. She _does_ have your nose...thank _fuck.”_

Armin sprints across the yard and after he knocks, Mikasa opens the guest house door, Andrew who holds her hand tight standing next to her. Armin picks his son up by his underarms as he squeals in delight and plants a firm kiss to Andrew’s cheek before setting his son down. He extends his arm out to the pathway Andrew runs down, invites his friends to see his daughter.

His childhood friend shakes her head, “No,” Mikasa smiles, “This time is for you guys first. We’ll come over tomorrow morning. You all need rest.” 

Jean shoves Armin’s shoulder, “Nice work, Arlert. Your little champ is also quite the builder and chess player too. He must be as smart as you!” he pauses, “That being said, try not to let your other one end up too much like, uh—”

“Jean…” Mikasa sighs.

“All I’m saying is a little _less_ rudeness from a female Arlert would be nice!” 

“This isn’t the time,” the tall girl looks at Armin. “We’ll be by later, Armin. Enjoy your time together.”

Just like all three of them have before, the group goes their separate ways and Armin leaves to the room where his family resides. He enters and observes Annie usher Andrew on the bed, the smaller boy handing her a flower he said he plucked for her—he’s got a good-eye too, his son holds one of Annie’s favorite carnations from the garden. Annie smiles broadly, thanks him and she uses the flower’s silky-petaled end to tickle Andrew’s smaller Roman nose, the move pulling a yelp then giggle from their eldest. Armin sits back down, overwhelmed.

What’s a word to describe this? When you thought you were already complete only to find there’s so much more waiting?

Armin wonders this as Andrew inspects his sister, Annie guiding his finger down only to have his small finger grabbed by someone smaller than him. Warmth blossoms in Armin’s chest when amazement widens his son’s eyes—has him grin—, the summer sunshine heat branching out as Annie joins in, smiling with so much adoration and love, Armin’s heart could pop. 

Tears well at the ends of his eyes but closing them squeezes the threat away.

Ah, that’s right. 

_Perfect._

**Author's Note:**

> Now let me make you roll your eyes at me further with this sweet song I just found too T__T Her voice is so soothing. 
> 
> [When You Come Home —Mree](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G73m17ZiEJ4)


End file.
